Law & Monsters
By John Allen
During the last decade, politicians and diplomats have experimented with war crimes tribunals as a means of bringing peace and justice. But is anyone looking out for the rights of war criminals? Why should anyone want to?
Auschwitz, Nanking, Verdun, My Lai: all war is a crime against someone. That's its nature. War is the breakdown of civil society into organized violence. Willful killing, robbery, dislocation, rape: they're all part of the process.
Of course, some warriors are nastier than others. Some (Cromwell, Stalin, Pol Pot) get away with it, leaving the question of criminality to the hung jury of history. Others (Eichmann, Tojo, Pinochet) face judgment from a more temporal court.
Add the name Stevan Todorovic to the latter list. He's one of the 134 leaders, followers, soldiers, and politicians formally accused of committing crimes against humanity during Yugoslavia's wars of dissolution in the 1990s. Each of these men and women has been indicted before a court — the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) — which was convened by the U.N. and sits in The Hague in the Netherlands, attempting to mete out justice for some of the worst crimes in recent history.
During the last decade, politicians and diplomats have experimented with war crimes tribunals as a means of bringing peace and justice. But is anyone looking out for the rights of war criminals? Why should anyone want to?
Auschwitz, Nanking, Verdun, My Lai: all war is a crime against someone. That's its nature. War is the breakdown of civil society into organized violence. Willful killing, robbery, dislocation, rape: they're all part of the process.
Of course, some warriors are nastier than others. Some (Cromwell, Stalin, Pol Pot) get away with it, leaving the question of criminality to the hung jury of history. Others (Eichmann, Tojo, Pinochet) face judgment from a more temporal court.
Add the name Stevan Todorovic to the latter list. He's one of the 134 leaders, followers, soldiers, and politicians formally accused of committing crimes against humanity during Yugoslavia's wars of dissolution in the 1990s. Each of these men and women has been indicted before a court — the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) — which was convened by the U.N. and sits in The Hague in the Netherlands, attempting to mete out justice for some of the worst crimes in recent history.
Todorovic was the chief of police in the Bosnian town of Bosanski Samac from April 1992 to December 1993, while Serbian forces controlled the area. During his time in power, non-Serbs were persecuted and displaced, and many were beaten while in his prisons. At least one of them was beaten to death. Most spectacularly, Todorovic, known to his inmates as the Monster, was reputed to sexually torture male prisoners for his amusement. In 1995, the ICTY charged him with thirty-seven counts of crimes against humanity.
But when Todorovic landed at The Hague in 1999, he made a lucky move — he placed himself in the legal care of Nikola Kostich JD'70, one of America's leading defenders of the rights of accused war criminals.
“I don't care how awful the crime is,” says Kostich, “and some of these guys are accused of dastardly stuff, and I've represented them — I don't care what the crime is, the international community is required to provide a fair and transparent criminal justice system so that these guys are tried fairly. If they're convicted, they should be sentenced. If not, they should be set free.”
But when Todorovic landed at The Hague in 1999, he made a lucky move — he placed himself in the legal care of Nikola Kostich JD'70, one of America's leading defenders of the rights of accused war criminals.
“I don't care how awful the crime is,” says Kostich, “and some of these guys are accused of dastardly stuff, and I've represented them — I don't care what the crime is, the international community is required to provide a fair and transparent criminal justice system so that these guys are tried fairly. If they're convicted, they should be sentenced. If not, they should be set free.”
Kostich and his colleagues on Todorovic's defense team found irregularities in the Monster's arrest (he'd essentially been abducted from Yugoslavia by a team of mercenaries). With this argument as leverage, the defense team convinced the prosecutors to accept a plea bargain — Todorovic pleaded guilty to one count (persecution) in exchange for a pass on the others. He's now serving a ten-year sentence in Spain and may be paroled, Kostich estimates, as early as 2005.
“Todorovic was a very bad dude,” says Tomislav Kuzmanovic '85, JD'88, another ICTY defense attorney, “but he got a very good deal.”
It may seem that defending accused war criminals is just that: an attempt to win good deals for bad dudes. But providing the likes of the Monster with the best possible defense may be the only way to ensure that international criminal justice is actually just.
“It's a gray world for me,” says Kostich, “but one thing remains black and white, and that's the issue of the rights of the accused. Every defendant deserves a full and fair trial.”
“Todorovic was a very bad dude,” says Tomislav Kuzmanovic '85, JD'88, another ICTY defense attorney, “but he got a very good deal.”
It may seem that defending accused war criminals is just that: an attempt to win good deals for bad dudes. But providing the likes of the Monster with the best possible defense may be the only way to ensure that international criminal justice is actually just.
“It's a gray world for me,” says Kostich, “but one thing remains black and white, and that's the issue of the rights of the accused. Every defendant deserves a full and fair trial.”
Genocide, extermination, torture, sexual assault: the charges are a laundry list of horrors. It isn't necessary to defend such criminals. For that matter, it isn't necessary to try them — a country could, when it lays hands on someone it believes is a war criminal, simply lock him up and throw away the key. In recent months, the United States has flirted with this idea, both with suspected Al-Qaeda operatives captured in Afghanistan and with various members of Saddam Hussein's regime. Neither labeled prisoners of war, which would protect them from prosecution, nor formally charged with any crime, they simply wait in jail until their fate is decided.
Such treatment may seem like poetic justice, offering criminals no more rights than they gave to others. But Heinz Klug, a UW Law School professor, warns that it lacks true legitimacy. “If you want to legitimately declare someone a war criminal,” he says “you've got to prove it by a decent process.”
And so, to ICTY defense attorneys, representing their clients is an essential part of moving the world from dependence on raw power to trust in justice. After all, there's a reason why justice is symbolized by a balance. Unless defendants have full opportunity to answer or refute the charges against them, there's no point in having a trial. Fighting tooth and nail for defendants' acquittal — or at least for leniency — is as essential as is their prosecution and punishment.
Such treatment may seem like poetic justice, offering criminals no more rights than they gave to others. But Heinz Klug, a UW Law School professor, warns that it lacks true legitimacy. “If you want to legitimately declare someone a war criminal,” he says “you've got to prove it by a decent process.”
And so, to ICTY defense attorneys, representing their clients is an essential part of moving the world from dependence on raw power to trust in justice. After all, there's a reason why justice is symbolized by a balance. Unless defendants have full opportunity to answer or refute the charges against them, there's no point in having a trial. Fighting tooth and nail for defendants' acquittal — or at least for leniency — is as essential as is their prosecution and punishment.
“If you want a serious conviction,” says Klug, “you've got to have a serious defense. You want to show that you can win that conviction under any circumstances.”
Kuzmanovic and Kostich are both filling that role, keeping up a serious defense and making sure the tribunal's work is legitimate. They're members of a relatively small clique — there are just 102 defense attorneys currently working at ICTY, and only twenty of them are Americans.
But Kostich is special — he's worked with a dozen defendants and witnesses at The Hague, most Serbs or Bosnian Serbs. He was the first American defense counsel at the ICTY, the lead attorney for the first sentencing, and he negotiated the first plea bargain “ever,” he says, “in the history of international jurisprudence.
“It's pretty heady stuff,” he adds. “Me, a little country lawyer, tangling with these big cases.”
Kuzmanovic and Kostich are both filling that role, keeping up a serious defense and making sure the tribunal's work is legitimate. They're members of a relatively small clique — there are just 102 defense attorneys currently working at ICTY, and only twenty of them are Americans.
But Kostich is special — he's worked with a dozen defendants and witnesses at The Hague, most Serbs or Bosnian Serbs. He was the first American defense counsel at the ICTY, the lead attorney for the first sentencing, and he negotiated the first plea bargain “ever,” he says, “in the history of international jurisprudence.
“It's pretty heady stuff,” he adds. “Me, a little country lawyer, tangling with these big cases.”
Outside The Hague, the cases may not seem so big at the moment. The wars in Yugoslavia sputtered out in 1995, and after their sequel, the 1999 NATO intervention in Kosovo, they disappeared from the front pages of U.S. newspapers. Other wars and other crimes quickly took their place. Though occasionally the antics of former Yugoslav president Slobodan Milosevic, defending himself before the ICTY, bring the tribunal into the news, the actual operation of the court goes almost unnoticed.
Nevertheless, the ICTY represents a revolutionary concept in international relations. The tribunal is an attempt to make real the often professed but seldom credible notion that law is superior to power, that right trumps might.
The ICTY isn't the first international war crimes tribunal. Its most famous predecessors were the Nuremberg and Tokyo courts that held German and Japanese officials responsible for the depredations of World War II. But there are important differences. The tribunals that followed the Second World War were created and presided over by the victorious Allies; the defendants all came from the defeated nations. Although bringing Axis Power criminals to justice was certainly the main aim of the tribunals, it cannot have escaped the judges' attention that guilty verdicts would also justify the Allies' war effort.
Nevertheless, the ICTY represents a revolutionary concept in international relations. The tribunal is an attempt to make real the often professed but seldom credible notion that law is superior to power, that right trumps might.
The ICTY isn't the first international war crimes tribunal. Its most famous predecessors were the Nuremberg and Tokyo courts that held German and Japanese officials responsible for the depredations of World War II. But there are important differences. The tribunals that followed the Second World War were created and presided over by the victorious Allies; the defendants all came from the defeated nations. Although bringing Axis Power criminals to justice was certainly the main aim of the tribunals, it cannot have escaped the judges' attention that guilty verdicts would also justify the Allies' war effort.
In 1993, when the Yugoslav wars were at their peak and Stevan Todorovic was running his police department, the U.N. Security Council made a break with history. It determined that the Balkan situation warranted judicial intervention, even though no member of the Security Council was involved in the conflict. The crimes there, they declared, “constitute[d] a threat to international peace and security.” These crimes needed to be stopped, not to gain geopolitical advantage, but because they were wrong.
In the resolution that created the ICTY — or, to give the tribunal its full name, the International Tribunal for the Prosecution of Persons Responsible for Serious Violations of International Humanitarian Law in the Territories of the Former Yugoslavia — the Security Council set out four goals: “to bring justice to persons allegedly responsible for violations of international humanitarian law, to render justice to the victims, to deter further crimes, and to contribute to the restoration of peace by promoting reconciliation in the former Yugoslavia.” Instead of judging the warring factions, the tribunal was to have jurisdiction “only over natural persons and not over organizations, political parties, administrative entities, or other legal subjects.”
“For years, I've felt it would be nice to have an international criminal court,” says Kostich. “There should be a place to try the great criminals — the Pol Pots and the Augusto Pinochets of the world.”
In the resolution that created the ICTY — or, to give the tribunal its full name, the International Tribunal for the Prosecution of Persons Responsible for Serious Violations of International Humanitarian Law in the Territories of the Former Yugoslavia — the Security Council set out four goals: “to bring justice to persons allegedly responsible for violations of international humanitarian law, to render justice to the victims, to deter further crimes, and to contribute to the restoration of peace by promoting reconciliation in the former Yugoslavia.” Instead of judging the warring factions, the tribunal was to have jurisdiction “only over natural persons and not over organizations, political parties, administrative entities, or other legal subjects.”
“For years, I've felt it would be nice to have an international criminal court,” says Kostich. “There should be a place to try the great criminals — the Pol Pots and the Augusto Pinochets of the world.”
But there was a problem in the ICTY's fourth founding objective: to bring about peace and reconciliation.
“Those are political goals, not goals of justice,” says Kuzmanovic. Concern for how ethnic groups get along compromises the court's objectivity with respect to particular defendants, he argues. If Serbia bears the most guilt for the crimes committed during the wars, does reconciliation demand that every Serb who comes before the court be convicted, irrespective of individual responsibility? “What the ICTY should be about is seeing if certain individuals are guilty of committing certain crimes, not about bringing peace,” says Kuzmanovic. “Those aren't mutually compatible goals.”
How the tribunal's political intent has affected its judicial function is open to interpretation — and both Kuzmanovic and Kostich interpret freely. Kuzmanovic, who's of Croatian descent, believes the tribunal has tried too hard to be politically correct, in some cases apportioning guilt simply to show that it isn't out to blame any particular nationality but is willing to hold all nations at least partially responsible.
To Kostich, the court has focused its attention too closely on Serbs. “I had a feeling, from the first time that I heard of the ICTY, that the Clinton administration had a bias against the Serbs.”
“Those are political goals, not goals of justice,” says Kuzmanovic. Concern for how ethnic groups get along compromises the court's objectivity with respect to particular defendants, he argues. If Serbia bears the most guilt for the crimes committed during the wars, does reconciliation demand that every Serb who comes before the court be convicted, irrespective of individual responsibility? “What the ICTY should be about is seeing if certain individuals are guilty of committing certain crimes, not about bringing peace,” says Kuzmanovic. “Those aren't mutually compatible goals.”
How the tribunal's political intent has affected its judicial function is open to interpretation — and both Kuzmanovic and Kostich interpret freely. Kuzmanovic, who's of Croatian descent, believes the tribunal has tried too hard to be politically correct, in some cases apportioning guilt simply to show that it isn't out to blame any particular nationality but is willing to hold all nations at least partially responsible.
To Kostich, the court has focused its attention too closely on Serbs. “I had a feeling, from the first time that I heard of the ICTY, that the Clinton administration had a bias against the Serbs.”
But Kostich's concern for ICTY defendants isn't solely idealism. “Everybody in this has biases,” he says.
Some of Kostich's bias grows out of his connection to Serbian politics. He was born to Serbian parents outside of Sarajevo, now the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina. His grandfather, an Orthodox priest also named Nikola Kostich, was the first president of the Serbian National Congress after the creation of Yugoslavia. His father, Mladen, was an officer in the royal Yugoslav army and fought as a guerrilla when the country was occupied by the Nazis. After the war, Mladen escaped the incoming Communist government, which had placed him under a death sentence. Kostich spent years under a regime that was trying to eradicate all loyalty to race, religion, and royalism. He was a teenager by the time that he and his mother were able to emigrate and join Mladen in Milwaukee.
“That kind of experience puts a stamp on you,” says Kostich. “It made me a better lawyer, because I learned to think on my feet, but it also made me quietly pro-American. I appreciate the freedoms I've found here.”
After law school at the UW, Kostich spent a year at The Hague, then returned to Milwaukee to practice criminal law, first as a prosecutor, then as a defender.
Some of Kostich's bias grows out of his connection to Serbian politics. He was born to Serbian parents outside of Sarajevo, now the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina. His grandfather, an Orthodox priest also named Nikola Kostich, was the first president of the Serbian National Congress after the creation of Yugoslavia. His father, Mladen, was an officer in the royal Yugoslav army and fought as a guerrilla when the country was occupied by the Nazis. After the war, Mladen escaped the incoming Communist government, which had placed him under a death sentence. Kostich spent years under a regime that was trying to eradicate all loyalty to race, religion, and royalism. He was a teenager by the time that he and his mother were able to emigrate and join Mladen in Milwaukee.
“That kind of experience puts a stamp on you,” says Kostich. “It made me a better lawyer, because I learned to think on my feet, but it also made me quietly pro-American. I appreciate the freedoms I've found here.”
After law school at the UW, Kostich spent a year at The Hague, then returned to Milwaukee to practice criminal law, first as a prosecutor, then as a defender.
When the ICTY set up shop in 1993, Kostich felt his profession and his genealogy coming together. He set off for the Balkans to educate Serbs on the tribunal's existence. He met with some of the most controversial Bosnian Serb leaders of the time: President Radovan Karadzic and General Ratko Mladic, whom former U.S. Ambassador Richard Holbrooke calls “the Osama and Saddam of Bosnia.” Two years after Kostich met with them, the ICTY charged both with genocide. They're still on the run.
While in the Balkans, Kostich also came into contact with the legal team representing Dusko Tadic, the ICTY's first defendant. Kostich became increasingly interested in Tadic's defense until, in 1996, he began arguing before the tribunal.
“All the hard work I'd done before, all the toil, all the homicides I'd prosecuted, all the drug cases I'd defended — the ICTY comes as a culmination of all that,” says Kostich. “Also, as a Serb defending fellow Serbs, I can walk in their shoes. I can explore what really happened in the Balkans. That's a huge burden, if you've declared yourself a Serb who wants to help the country and the culture.”
What he found at The Hague was also disappointing. “The people who are most interested in international law tend to be professors and academics and some people who work for non-governmental organizations in the human rights area,” he says. “And the professors and activists — they have blinders on. They're focused on giving justice to victims, but they forget about the rights of the accused. There was no real equality of arms” between prosecutors and defendants, “and nobody seemed concerned about this.”
While in the Balkans, Kostich also came into contact with the legal team representing Dusko Tadic, the ICTY's first defendant. Kostich became increasingly interested in Tadic's defense until, in 1996, he began arguing before the tribunal.
“All the hard work I'd done before, all the toil, all the homicides I'd prosecuted, all the drug cases I'd defended — the ICTY comes as a culmination of all that,” says Kostich. “Also, as a Serb defending fellow Serbs, I can walk in their shoes. I can explore what really happened in the Balkans. That's a huge burden, if you've declared yourself a Serb who wants to help the country and the culture.”
What he found at The Hague was also disappointing. “The people who are most interested in international law tend to be professors and academics and some people who work for non-governmental organizations in the human rights area,” he says. “And the professors and activists — they have blinders on. They're focused on giving justice to victims, but they forget about the rights of the accused. There was no real equality of arms” between prosecutors and defendants, “and nobody seemed concerned about this.”
The question of equality of resources may seem too mundane to list among rights. After all, why should a court created for the prosecution of accused criminals concern itself with funding their defense? But evidence, transportation of witnesses, documents — they're all essential parts of a case, and they all cost money.
The trouble with the procedures at the tribunal — and thus, potentially, with future international criminal courts — is that, essentially, those who created the court seem to have neglected the nature of war crimes defendants. To commit crimes of great magnitude, people generally have to hold considerable power (and often considerable wealth). They don't seem like the sort of people who would need a public defender. But by the time potential war criminals are indicted and arrested, they've been driven from power, used up their connections, and spent their fortunes trying to escape their accusers. Most of the ICTY's defendants have declared themselves indigent.
And the law that their attorneys must face is far more complex than domestic laws. When the U.N. Security Council began setting up its plan for the tribunal, it had precious little in the way of precedent to draw on. Nuremberg and Tokyo were heavily weighted in favor of the prosecution, and international statutes tend to be open to interpretation. The Geneva Conventions, for instance, limit legal attacks to only those that offer “a definite military advantage” in the “circumstances ruling at the time.”
The trouble with the procedures at the tribunal — and thus, potentially, with future international criminal courts — is that, essentially, those who created the court seem to have neglected the nature of war crimes defendants. To commit crimes of great magnitude, people generally have to hold considerable power (and often considerable wealth). They don't seem like the sort of people who would need a public defender. But by the time potential war criminals are indicted and arrested, they've been driven from power, used up their connections, and spent their fortunes trying to escape their accusers. Most of the ICTY's defendants have declared themselves indigent.
And the law that their attorneys must face is far more complex than domestic laws. When the U.N. Security Council began setting up its plan for the tribunal, it had precious little in the way of precedent to draw on. Nuremberg and Tokyo were heavily weighted in favor of the prosecution, and international statutes tend to be open to interpretation. The Geneva Conventions, for instance, limit legal attacks to only those that offer “a definite military advantage” in the “circumstances ruling at the time.”
The “circumstances ruling at the time” invite different readings, and a general may easily see “definite military advantage” where civilians (and their lawyers) do not.
Hashing out such questions, as well as sifting evidence, takes time and often the effort of many people — and that costs money that defendants usually don't have. Thus the one issue that has grown to be a recurring difficulty for ICTY defense attorneys is budget, or rather, the fraction of the tribunal's budget that may be spent on a defendant's legal expenses. “This is kind of a bugaboo with us,” says Kostich.
In the ten years since the tribunal was created, the ICTY budget has grown from $276,000 to more than $223 million, which may sound like a lot. But consider this: the Bush administration, in its $87 billion request for the administration of Iraq, requested $100 million just for the investigation of crimes against humanity under Saddam — five hundred investigators at $200,000 apiece. And currently, there's no court to try any criminals those investigators turn up.
At the ICTY, nearly half the budget is earmarked for the office of the prosecutor. The rest must be split among the defense, judges, guards, translators, and many others. Defense attorneys have not only their own expenses and pay to consider, but salaries for aides, investigators, and expert witnesses.
Hashing out such questions, as well as sifting evidence, takes time and often the effort of many people — and that costs money that defendants usually don't have. Thus the one issue that has grown to be a recurring difficulty for ICTY defense attorneys is budget, or rather, the fraction of the tribunal's budget that may be spent on a defendant's legal expenses. “This is kind of a bugaboo with us,” says Kostich.
In the ten years since the tribunal was created, the ICTY budget has grown from $276,000 to more than $223 million, which may sound like a lot. But consider this: the Bush administration, in its $87 billion request for the administration of Iraq, requested $100 million just for the investigation of crimes against humanity under Saddam — five hundred investigators at $200,000 apiece. And currently, there's no court to try any criminals those investigators turn up.
At the ICTY, nearly half the budget is earmarked for the office of the prosecutor. The rest must be split among the defense, judges, guards, translators, and many others. Defense attorneys have not only their own expenses and pay to consider, but salaries for aides, investigators, and expert witnesses.
“I'm not complaining about the fact that I'm paid by the U.N. or about how much they pay me,” says Kostich, “but I'm having trouble getting support staff.” Such a staff is vital when the prosecution may have spent several years preparing for a case, piling up boxes of documents, and interviewing hundreds of witnesses before even bringing an indictment. “I simply run out of time to do everything,” he says. “That's an overlooked part of the rights of the accused, and that's disturbing.”
Bosnia, Rwanda, Kosovo, East Timor: the ICTY has spawned a series of offspring. Perhaps the most ambitious is the International Criminal Court (ICC), created by the Treaty of Rome in 1998 and, since 2002, operating near the ICTY at The Hague. The ICC hopes to pick up where ad hoc tribunals leave off — it aims to be a permanent, impartial court for crimes against humanity. It has yet to indict a defendant.
The ICTY is the model for future war crimes trials. “It will be the precedent for international criminal cases,” says Kostich. “There's really nothing else for the ICC to draw on.”
So as a precedent, how is the ICTY doing? Is it pushing the world closer to that ideal in which all people can find a refuge in justice — even those who are accused of denying justice to others?
Bosnia, Rwanda, Kosovo, East Timor: the ICTY has spawned a series of offspring. Perhaps the most ambitious is the International Criminal Court (ICC), created by the Treaty of Rome in 1998 and, since 2002, operating near the ICTY at The Hague. The ICC hopes to pick up where ad hoc tribunals leave off — it aims to be a permanent, impartial court for crimes against humanity. It has yet to indict a defendant.
The ICTY is the model for future war crimes trials. “It will be the precedent for international criminal cases,” says Kostich. “There's really nothing else for the ICC to draw on.”
So as a precedent, how is the ICTY doing? Is it pushing the world closer to that ideal in which all people can find a refuge in justice — even those who are accused of denying justice to others?
So far, the ICTY has brought in 134 indictments. The prosecutor's office has secured nineteen convictions to five acquittals, with fifty-one defendants currently detained at The Hague. It's now in the middle of what will likely be its biggest case, the trial of Slobodan Milosevic. “He's the big fish,” says Kostich. “The tribunal has to convict him of genocide. One way or another, he was involved in everything that happened in the former Yugoslavia.”
Although the ICTY is still handing down indictments — the most recent were announced in May — its work may be winding down. The United States, with its powerful military and far-flung interests, holds considerable sway over issues of international criminal justice. And Kostich feels that “this country has done a 180 as far as international courts are concerned,” referring to the U.S. turnabout and withdrawal from the International Criminal Court in 2002.
“The ICTY does create a precedent,” says Kostich, and it's a precedent that many powerful governments wouldn't like. “If you can have a tribunal for Yugoslavia, why couldn't you have one with jurisdiction over, say, the U.S.?
Or over Russia for what's going on in Chechnya? That ain't gonna happen.”
Although the ICTY is still handing down indictments — the most recent were announced in May — its work may be winding down. The United States, with its powerful military and far-flung interests, holds considerable sway over issues of international criminal justice. And Kostich feels that “this country has done a 180 as far as international courts are concerned,” referring to the U.S. turnabout and withdrawal from the International Criminal Court in 2002.
“The ICTY does create a precedent,” says Kostich, and it's a precedent that many powerful governments wouldn't like. “If you can have a tribunal for Yugoslavia, why couldn't you have one with jurisdiction over, say, the U.S.?
Or over Russia for what's going on in Chechnya? That ain't gonna happen.”
For Kuzmanovic, too, the ICTY presents an ideal of justice that neither it nor the world is ready to live up to. He suspects that nations will resort to force as the ultimate determiner of justice. “You can imagine what would happen in the highly unlikely event that a member of our administration would ever have to face a tribunal of this kind,” he says. “I think the vast majority of people would feel offended that our own criminal justice system couldn't take care of the situation and would be actively working to find a way to send in the special forces, as the president has threatened to do, to extricate someone if they're arrested.”
In the meantime, Kostich narrows his focus to keeping the ICTY honest. “You can judge a society — how progressive and civilized it is — by looking at its criminal justice system,” he says. “The way it treats the indigent and the accused will tell you how that society treats the elderly, the poor, and so on. And the same is true for the international community. At the end of all this, as a practitioner, I want to be proud.
I want to be able to come back to the U.S. and say that we're doing a hell of a good job."
In the meantime, Kostich narrows his focus to keeping the ICTY honest. “You can judge a society — how progressive and civilized it is — by looking at its criminal justice system,” he says. “The way it treats the indigent and the accused will tell you how that society treats the elderly, the poor, and so on. And the same is true for the international community. At the end of all this, as a practitioner, I want to be proud.
I want to be able to come back to the U.S. and say that we're doing a hell of a good job."
